


For All The Wrong Reasons

by heijihatsutori



Category: Infinite (Band), U-KISS, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Police, Angst, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, Gen, Non-Chronological, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-05-23 03:49:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6103851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heijihatsutori/pseuds/heijihatsutori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Detective Lee Howon of Hwayang-dong station, a day off means catching up with sleep after countless days of all-nighters at the station, but not before doing a thorough cleaning of the small apartment he calls home. In fact, that was what supposed to happen, if not for his negligence on restocking the cleaning appliances forced him to go back out that fateful evening.</p><p>Little did he know that he will get entangled in the wicked games happening in the dark side of the underground world of Seoul -for all the wrong reasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Still Alive

**Author's Note:**

> This is originally intended to be 100-chapters-in-1 kind of thing, in an attempt to finish the 100 Infinite Fic Challenge in one go, but of course the combination of Myungsoo and my brain means nothing shall go my way, as the latter reminds me I've been neglecting the U-Kiss fandom since forever, and my sister (for better or for worse) plus I Need U MV and consequent great releases plunge me into the dark side which is BTS. Go figure.
> 
> So here we go; the first multi-chapter, multi-fandom, and definitely-will-be-long fic from yours truly. Also the first to be posted when everything is still in the development and writing process, because I am a professional procrastinator to the core and this had been in my WIP folder for way too long for my liking.
> 
> I cannot promise on constant update though hopefully with this out to the world I can get self to stop lurking on Tumblr and actually. start. writing. Nag me if need be, I'm bad like that.
> 
> Rating is high from the get go for it is better safe than sorry, considering the triggering subject matters. Also the date, time, and year will play a significant role in the grand scheme of things, so do look out for them in the next coming chapters.
> 
> Also, to my sister/editor, and the people who actually subscribed to me despite the lack of update, thank you for being the reason I want to write again. This is for you.

*******

  
  
  
-6th June 201X, 1:00PM-  
  
  
            “I’m going to ask you a few questions pertaining to the incident, um, Howon.”  
  
            He shifts his body so that he is facing Sungyeol now, and nods softly. The young officer has a conflicted look on the face the whole time of the visit, and it makes him feel somewhat better inside, despite clearly understanding that this is a normal procedure.  
  
            He just never imagined being the one having his statement taken instead.  
  
            “Can you recount what exactly happened, and how it came to be, sir?”  
  
            He nods again, and as he retraces his memory back to that day, he watches as the white hospital room turns bleaker, and he is back in that place, where the stench of blood seeped to every fiber of his being.  
  
            “It was my day off, that day.”  
  
            For Detective Lee Howon of Hwayang-dong station, a day off means catching up with sleep after countless days of all-nighters at the station, but not before doing a thorough cleaning of the small apartment he calls home. In fact, that was what supposed to happen, if not for his negligence on restocking the cleaning appliances forced him to go back out that fateful evening.  
  
            Clad in simple shirt and jeans, he walked down the road to the nearby mini market about three blocks away, mentally listing off the stuffs he needs to buy when a scream jolts him out of his reverie, effectively snapping him awake.  
  
            Following through the direction of the sound, he walked down a narrow alley, his fingers typing a quick message to Sungyeol for possible backup when he saw a man dragging a woman forcefully, the victim struggling in his arms. Shoving his phone in his pocket, he looked around for possible makeshift weapon while making sure the perpetrator did not see him trailing them.  
  
            Maybe his fatigue was greater than he thought, for he failed to sense someone sneaking up behind him and delivered a blow to the back of the head, and he was out of it before he felt his body hitting the ground.  
  
            “Speaking of which did you get the message, Sungyeol?”  
  
            The officer nods jerkily, surprised at the sudden question.  
  
            “I tracked your phone via GPS, and then I alerted the others.”  
  
            He holds his tongue, waiting for any other explanation, but Sungyeol seems intent to hear his side of story first, so he continues.  
     
            “When I came to, I can’t move my body; my hands and feet were tied behind to a wooden chair -judging by the feel of it- and I was blindfolded. There were sounds of fighting or something but it was muffled and when I strained to hear I passed out again.”  
  
            He watches as Sungyeol nods tentatively, fingers quick in jotting down the notes and whips his head up at the silence.  
  
            “…that’s it?”  
  
              There’s an almost disbelief in his voice that catches Howon’s attention.  
  
            “Yes. When I came to all I see is the white of this hospital room; and a certain officer sleeping on the chair, that is.”  
  
            The said officer is now spluttering at the remark, and Howon grins.  
  
            “I was ordered by Hoon to stay guard here!”  
  
            He snorts at that and Sungyeol looks scandalized but his mind starts racing.  
  
            “And why exactly is that?”  
  
             That catches the officer immediately and he promptly shuts up, eyes sharp on him.  
  
            “I’m afraid I don’t have the authority to answer that, sir.”  
  
            Howon clicked his tongue at that, displeased clear in his expression.  
  
            “As Inspector Hoonmin said, and I quote, ‘a patient should behave like a patient and rest properly instead of mulling things over in his damn head, or God forbid, runs off to conduct an investigation in who knows where now; you know as well as I do that detective is a troublesome piece of a work’, that is.”  
  
            He narrowed his eyes at the lengthy explanation, but Sungyeol wouldn’t budge, not when he is looking straight at him like this; sharp, firm, befitting of a police officer. He had seen the usually jovial man pull that look in stressing situations, and it had never failed to make him see the younger in a different light every single time, but this might be the one exception where he hates it.  
  
            What’s worse is he cannot even pull rank on the officer to spit it out when Hoon already got one over him. Though to be frank he should have expected it, the other had been his superior for a good couple of years now to understand his inner workings.  
     
            But he is not called persistent bastard for nothing, now.  
  
            “So while I’m stuck here like this which detective is going to take over the investigation? Surely there are other survivors to be guard on as well?”  
  
            He watches as the officer’s defenses crumbled slightly and inwardly smirks; after all, he, too, had been Sungyeol’s superior for quite some time now to know how to pull the wool over him.  
  
            “About that, detective Soohyun is handling it for now; though once the full report is ready the case is going to be reviewed in a meeting at HQ. As for survivors, there’s only one; you.”  
  
            He nods at that, processing the information in his mind; the case going to HQ means it is connected with something big enough that warrants their attention instead of being handled by mere detectives at the station, and he leans back at the propped up pillow for good measure before something struck about the second statement.  
     
            “What do you mean I’m the only one; what about that woman, the struggling victim?”  
  
            Sungyeol’s expression is so solemn that he almost screams out, wishing his thoughts are wrong.  
  
            “We were too late.”  
  
            He clenches his fist at that, his heart sinking in.  
  
            “Have you identified her? The autopsy should have been done and over with by now.”  
  
            It had been a habit of his to get to know all the victims in the cases he handles, or in this case, gotten involved with, so as to pay his respects later. It keeps him grounded somewhat, even when Hoon keeps on berating him for getting too involved.  
  
            He feels his pulse quickens when Sungyeol’s face turns white as sheet, hands shaking.  
  
            “The autopsy is still ongoing; there’s…too much body to be accounted for.”  
  
            There is a shiver running down his spine, as he is reminded back to the scene, when the strong scent of blood assaulted his senses the brief moment he regained his consciousness.  
  
            “What do you mean-  
  
            Abruptly the officer stands; clutching the notepad in his hand so tight it almost bends outward and the haunted look in the younger’s eyes caught him off-guard.  
  
            “I’m afraid I am not allowed to speak further. I shouldn’t even say anything; Hoon had ordered me to simply take your statement and shuts up but I just have to answer everything, aren’t I? And now I can’t get the image out of my head and-  
  
            He grabs the officer’s wrist and holds tight, stopping the man from his rambling.  
  
            “Calm down, Sungyeol. Take a deep breath, come on.”  
  
            Slowly, the man sits again and closes his eyes, breathing deep, his thumb rubbing the other’s wrist slowly and he feels the pulse slows down, to his relief.  
  
            Inwardly, he curses himself for his curiosity; Sungyeol may have been a fine officer in its own right, but there are certain things you just don’t get used to in this field of work, regardless of how much experience you accumulated being on scene, and whatever it is that he saw that day must have been so bad to cause such an erupt reaction from the younger.  
  
            He berates himself for being such a bad superior, and he can almost see Hoon’s disapproving look in his head, which does not really help matters to his inner workings. His guilt must have shown on his face, though, for Sungyeol actually smiles softly at him.  
  
            “Howon, its fine; I’m fine, ok?”  
  
            He almost sighs at that; the man is too kind sometimes, but he nods, understanding.  
  
            Just like that, the topic changes swiftly to all kinds of rumors on the underworld and his expression must have soured enough to earn the usual boisterous laugh for the other. He finally allows himself to relax, and just listen to the other man’s chatter.  
     
            It is only later at night that he starts mull over things, jotting down all the information he acquired from Sungyeol in a new notebook and pen he managed to persuade one of the nurses to sneak in for him -he would not dare ask Sungyeol for them as the officer would surely caught his intention from miles away- that it dawns on him.  
  
            For he had actually been awake long enough to hear the alarming shouts amidst the muffled sound of fighting.  And he was already preparing for the worst when it slowly dwindles down to nothing but silence and the stench scent of blood starts assaulting his senses, as if he is drowning in a sea of it.  
  
            He can only imagine how the scene looked like in the aftermath of things, and he reasoned that his memory must still be hazy enough thus the simplified statement he gave to Sungyeol, but the fact that he is the only survivor just hammers the whole thing on him.  
  
            That he had not imagined the very soft sound of incoming footsteps towards him despite the fading consciousness, the cold feel of a sharp blade-like object on his neck, and the startlingly cold voice whispering in his ear, as if the person is crouching right in front of him.  
  
            It almost drives detective Lee Howon mad with all the questions burning in him, as the words ringing clear in his head, over and over again.  
  
            _“Ah, it’s Mr. Officer.”_  


 


	2. Locked In A Cage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be updated weekly unless something came up, so please bear with me.

*******

  
  
  
-6th June 201X, 3:00PM-  
  
  
            “That will be 650 won, sir.”  
  
            He smiles charmingly at the cute cashier as he hands the money, taking delight at the light blush adorning the petite girl’s cheek, and making a point to thank her as he exits the bakery, the fresh smell of baked bread following his wake as the door closes with a small chime.  
  
            Straightening his posture, he steals a quick glance at the watch and walks further down the street, humming softly. To say he is in a good mood is an understatement, really; the deal he had worked on for weeks had been successfully closed this morning, and Jaeseop had been pleased enough to grant him a few extra cash in advance, to his surprise and deep gratitude.  
  
            His boss is, after all, a man who takes command with his words, that when he actually takes action instead, it speaks volumes more than the clipped words usually bestowed to his subordinates. For him especially, the gesture further boosts his pride and loyalty towards the man.  
  
            Hopefully this will shut the stupid rumor and urging within the group for him to replace Jaeseop; heaven knows he is no genius like the current head to handle all the troublesome stuffs.  
  
            The familiar wooden tobacco stall is now within his view, and he dispels the warring thoughts in his mind, regaining his cheery exposition. And he feels his own smile widens as he catches sight of the owner manning the very much open stall. But then, he thinks, it is hard not to, when facing the blinding smile of a certain Jang Dongwoo as he sings along to whatever song plays on the radio, oblivious to his presence.  
  
            He knocks on the counter, and it catches the other’s attention as the singing stops abruptly, replaced with the usual inquiry.  
  
            “Yes, what brand would you like, sir?”  
  
            Instead of answering though, he passes the plastic of bread from the bakery to the top of the elder’s hand, and watches as the smile brightens.  
  
            “Woohyun, is it? It’s been awhile!”  
  
            He cannot help but chuckles at that, and nods before mentally face palming himself for the mistake.  
  
            “Yes, hyung, it’s me. How are you doing? Sorry I can’t drop by as much lately.”  
  
            Dongwoo shakes his head and proceeds to invite him in from the side door, hands cradling the plastic carefully.  
  
            “Its fine; rainy season means there is fewer customers than usual, so I just lounging around like I did before you came, but ah, new shipment just arrived yesterday and I don’t get to restock them yet. Sorry if it’s a tad messy around, Woohyun.”  
  
            He laughs at that, for it is obvious that the postal men had taken the liberty to arrange the boxes carefully by the wall in order to not get in the owner’s way, and he mentally notes to himself to send his gratitude later.  
  
            “No problem at all, hyung. If anything it’s a good thing I come today then, I’ll help you restock them. That way you won’t have to worry of running out of them soon, right?”  
  
            The obviously conflicted look on the other’s face makes him sigh softly, for Dongwoo is just too nice sometimes. Reaching over to squeeze the shoulder, he continues on to reassure the elder.  
  
            “You don’t have to worry on inconveniencing me, hyung. I do this because I want to, and it has nothing to do with your condition whatsoever. I just, how to put this…”  
  
            He scratches his head, groaning inwardly as he searches for the right things to say, that he is taken aback when Dongwoo reach over to hug him close.  
  
            “Thank you, Woohyun.”  
  
            He feels his shoulder relaxes, relief floods over him, and the sincerity in Dongwoo’s voice almost makes his heart break. He hugs back tightly; secretly grateful that the other will never see him tearing -albeit slightly- and when they part he can almost feel the glass eye’s gaze on him, to which he simply smiles softly.  
  
            He had come to know Dongwoo by chance a couple of months ago, when he caught some punk trying to steal from the stall right under the owner’s nose, and he was ready to give the said owner a piece of his mind for being careless and whatnot when trembling hands catches his, a soft smile and sincere gratitude on the lips, and empty, sightless eyes greets him.  
  
            All words of reprimand ended up logged in his throat and for the first time in a long while, Woohyun smiles, assuring the scared man that it is fine now; the punks are already gone, no he is not injured in any way whatsoever, and when the other proceeds to give him free packs instead as thank you he wound up walking back smiling brokenly as shame washes over him at his earlier thoughts.  
  
            After that he made it a point to start patrolling the nearby neighborhood himself, occasionally hanging out in front of the stall just for the hell of it, glaring at any punks who dare to start anything funny, and soon enough, only customers would drop by the lone wooden tobacco stall by the road.  
  
            And progressively, somehow, their relationship become close enough to something like a friendship, which Woohyun still marvels at the possibility, though the fact that he manage to make the ever-so-polite elder to drop the honorifics still counts as a huge victory as far as he is concerned.  
  
            Later they proceed to tear open all of the boxes and he watches in fascination as Dongwoo restock the packs expertly -and definitely faster than him by all ways possible- in accordance to the brand and type in the compartments scaled at the left side of the stall.  
  
            It is dusk when they are done with the whole shipment and he signals it by ruffling the man’s head for good measure, earning an undignified ‘yah!’ at that, to which he just laughs himself silly.  
  
            He can feel his face muscles start cramping from all the laugh and smiles he did today, but he did not find it in him to care in the least. If anything, he feels free from all the worry and expectations from both his superior and subordinates constricting his neck like the tie in his black suit, which has since been thrown carelessly over the chair by the door.  
  
            He mentally notes to visit Dongwoo more frequently after this, if only for both his sanity and the elder’s wellbeing, though he would not deny that a large part of it is for his own selfishness.  
  
            He feels his stomach rumbling and calls out to Dongwoo who is gathering all the empty boxes for dinner, and upon garnering the okay from the other to simply order out instead of walking to the nearby restaurant, he walks out to the front stall, flicking his phone open, and scrolling the contact for the number when he catches the sight of broken planks at the other side of the door.  
  
            “Hyung, what’s with all this planks? Are you renovating the stall or something?”  
  
            He hears Dongwoo shuffling closer, traces of confusion in his face.  
  
            “No, nothing of the sort…ah, is it from the right side of the wall?”  
  
            He walks to the said wall, and sure enough, there is an empty spot near the bottom where the plank is supposed to be. Frowning, yet keeping himself under check, he voices his agreement.  
  
            “Ah, the postal men from yesterday must have removed them then. They told me that the plank was broken and it might be dangerous to leave it be as people might unsuspectingly trip over it or something so we have it removed. They said it’s just a small part of the wall though, so it shouldn’t be hard to fix.”  
  
            He nods, examining the hole as his mind starts running.  
  
            “Should I call for someone then? How did it become like this in the first place?”  
  
            Dongwoo actually frowns a bit, and he unknowingly grits his teeth at that.  
  
            “Last week, I think, there was a brawl in front of the stall after I closed up. I don’t know what to do and there were a lot of shouting so I thought of calling Mr. Officer but after a huge sound of someone hitting the stall the fight starts to cease so I decided against it. I never thought the stall was damaged though.”  
  
            Anger boils in him like red hot blood, and his finger is twitching as he keeps on scrolling the contact in his phone over and over again to calm himself down.  
  
            “But I’m sure it’s nothing to be worried over, Woohyun-ah. I remember them scurrying away in a hurry afterwards, screaming something like ‘gang’, ‘police’ and ‘screwed’ so maybe they were caught already by either party?”  
  
            He actually laughs at that, agreeing that it might be so before proceeding to actually call the restaurant this time around, having decided on Chinese, and Dongwoo disappearing to the back room to clear some more boxes. When he hangs up he calls out to the other that he is going to call for someone to come fix the wall soon, and the smile he received alleviates the tension rising in him, albeit slightly.  
  
            Walking a few feet away to ensure that the owner would not hear him, he leans against the lamp post and flicks open the second phone from his pants, eyes cold as he dials his subordinate’s number.  
  
            “Yes, hyungnim?”  
  
            The lazy voice of Kevin greets him amidst the bustle of the bar in the background.  
  
            “I need you to find the punks who dare make a damn hole at Jang tobacco stall.”  
  
            The busy sound quiets down; the bartender must have leaved the counter.  
  
            “What do we do with them then, the usual?”  
  
            He smirks at that; trust Kevin to suggest things in that nonchalant tone of his.  
  
            “Nah, make them cough up the money for the repair is all.”  
  
            He can practically hear the surprise in the other’s voice.  
  
            “…that’s it?”  
  
            The delivery for dinner has arrived and he rushes to pay for them before Dongwoo realizes, though his face must have been scary enough somehow, for the delivery boy is staring at the ground, stiff as a board, as he pays for the food. Belatedly, he smiles apologetically to the boy, who to his gratefulness, actually smiles back. He then puts the dinner over on the counter, leans back and resumes the call.  
  
            “If there’s resistance then do the usual.”  
  
            This time the loud chatter is back and he hangs up just in time for Dongwoo to come in to the front at the smell of dinner. Putting all irritation to the back of his mind, Woohyun smiles, and enjoys the food.  
  
            Later, when he is preparing to leave, he fits the tie back at his neck, and smoothes down the black suit on his person as Dongwoo thanking him profusely for all the help, to which he just brushes off as small matters. Retrieving his black suitcase from the floor, he promises that he will drop by again, to the delight of the other, and as usual, he buys two packs of cigarettes, and secretly puts the money in when Dongwoo refuses to accept it.  
  
            He is a smoker through and through -a heavy one at that- but he never smokes while inside the stall, for Dongwoo cannot really stand the smell, which is ironic for a person manning a tobacco stall.  
  
            Yet he adheres to the other’s wishes, and refrains from smoking while on the way to and the whole time he is with the other, just for the sake of a friendship he never thought he will ever gain in this lifetime.  
  
            He knows he is selfish, but he can hardly care about any of that now.  
  
            Not when he is able to be normal and happy, genuinely so, despite everything.  
  
            Wistfully, he makes his way back, and with each step he takes, further from the stall, his demeanor and mindset returns back to that of Nam Woohyun, the right hand man of Kim Jaeseop, the head of the underground gang that rules the whole of Seoul.  
  
            When he steps into the bar, the chorus of ‘welcome back, hyungnim’ resounds at his wake, and he nods at Kevin who greets him with a drink, as per usual. Instead, he takes out a cigarette, and closes his eyes as he inhales the nicotine, the smoke whirling all over his insides.  
  
            When he opens it again, his gaze is cold and cool, sharp, befitting of a gang leader.  
  
            “I’m back.”  


 


	3. To Be Hellish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to scream at me.

*******

  
  
  
-6th June 201X, 7:15PM-  
  
  
            “Welcome, your order, sir?”  
  
            He smiles politely to the cashier, a boy he never sees before, and watches as the new barista expertly navigates the coffee machine. He takes the surrounding curiously, noting the absence of Kiseop, the usual barista and inwardly smirks.  
  
            Returning his attention back to the cashier, -Dongho, the nametag reads- he speaks in the usual tone he always has when he is setting up shop.  
  
            “I’m here to see Lee Sungjong, the owner, is he in?”  
  
            The boy widens his eye at that, the barista is still cleaning the counter, unperturbed, and the said owner is actually out of the office for once, leaning by the fridge, eyes narrowed at him.  
  
            “Why are you here, Sunggyu?”  
  
            The condescending tone hardly fazed him, and if anything, it makes him smirk wider.  
  
            “For the usual business, of course; to think you make your hyung come all the way here without as much of a welcome, that hurt, Sungjong-ah.”  
  
            The younger clicked his tongue and gestures for him to follow, as per usual. Entering the inner part of the café, he passes by the confused cashier with a smile and stops to order from the barista.  
  
            “I’ll have one iced cappuccino and one iced latte to go please.”  
  
            The young barista nods, acknowledging the order before resuming to work. He notices the earphone on the left bud of the ear, and mentally files it in his data network. Walking down the hallway to the office he passes by the kitchen, and he can see yet a new face preparing dough on the work table and his curiosity picked up instantly.  
  
            The office door is open and he plops down on the chair by the table, directly opposite to the still fuming Sungjong. The table is messy with lots of documents, cups of coffee stacked on the small desk on the owner’s right side, and he belatedly realized that it is the first week of the month, which is the usual accounting time for the owner of Infinite café.  
  
            That will explain the irritation -for the most part anyways.  
  
            “As you can see, I’m very preoccupied at the moment, so whatever business you want or up to this time, make it quick.”  
  
            The clipped tone leaves not much of an argument on his side, and the owner has actually start opening yet another document, which would have pissed him off if done by lesser people, but he is willing to let it slide for today.  
  
            “For starters, what happened to the usual cashier and baker? What a shame, the previous ones stand out more in my opinion -particularly the baker; his strawberry shortcake was one of a kind, if I may say so myself.”  
  
            He catches the younger stills at that, and hides his own smile behind his hand.  
  
            “They quit last week.”  
  
            He almost scoffs at the obvious lie, but two can play the game and Sungjong actually stops peering at whatever document he was into, and opts to leans back on the chair, the whirl of the ceiling fan filling the silence.  
  
            “What amazing timing, but surely they don’t ditch you for other place instead?”  
  
            Sungjong is staring now, eyes boring into his.  
  
            “Even if they did, nothing I can do about it.”  
  
            This time, he does scoff at it, and watch as the owner’s face darkens.  
  
            “Sungjong-ah, I thought you know better than to give me such crap answers, really. You’re hundred years too early to pull one on me. I mean, I appreciate the effort, but do you seriously think I’ll fall for that?”  
  
            He cannot help it, as he smiles in glee, a hand running through his dark red hair. Sungjong’s eyes are simmering with rage, and normal people will shiver at the sight, but they are not him, for he keeps his eyes straight at the other, leaning forward as he whispers the words.  
  
            “Maybe you can tell me how your two precious employees managed to get themselves killed in that 4th street case, considering their reputation as the best assassin duo in the underground world. Or, you can tell me why they were messing around in Nam Woohyun’s territory in the first place.”  
  
            The look on Sungjong’s face is priceless.  
  
            “…how much do you know?”  
  
            He leans back, relaxing himself, and smiles.  
  
            “You think? I pride myself as the best informant the city can offer after all.”  
  
            Sungjong straightens on his chair, and he copies the gesture; time to open shop.  
  
            “I’ll pay, so tell me all you know.”  
  
            He holds out his hand, straightforwardly, and smirks when the other’s eye twitches.  
  
            “That depends on how much you’re willing to cough out, you see.”  
  
            Begrudgingly, Sungjong opens a drawer, and hands over an envelope.  
  
            “That’s ten thousand, enough?”  
  
            He takes out wads of cash from the said envelope and starts going through them one by one; there were instances where people try to trick him with counterfeit money before, and let’s just say that it didn’t end well for the other party.  
  
            Not that he think Sungjong will does just that, but better safe than sorry. And it says something on how often he does this, for he nonchalantly talks in the midst of it all, leaning comfortably on the chair, his fingers moving expertly as he goes through each bill.  
  
            “Before I start, care to answer the earlier inquiries?”  
  
            Sungjong holds his tongue, and he sighs.  
  
            “Oh well, not like I cannot guess.”  
  
            He catches the narrowed eyes glaring at him, signaling for him to cut to the chase.  
  
            “The media does not report on this, so chances are the police have managed to keep things under wraps better than it seems. I always thought Commissioner Min Yoongi has a large influence before, but this further proves that he is not one to be messed with; who knows how far he can control things? I mean-”  
  
            The loud sound of hands hitting the table cuts him in mid-sentence and he raises his gaze to see Sungjong, face red with anger, and cold eyes meeting his.  
  
            “I don’t have all day, Sunggyu.”  
  
            The younger man is standing now, his figure looming over him, and he feels his own cheery exposition slowly slide away, as cold rage seeping in. The lack of honorific never really bothers him before so he knows that is not the reason, yet when he catches himself wondering belatedly if he made the right choice of coming to Sungjong first he decides enough is enough.  
  
            As expected, the thing he cannot tolerate the most is when the other party tries to force the words out of him, even when it is Sungjong who he had known for years now.  
  
            So he stands and says it, with each word he starts shoving each wad back into the envelope carelessly, all the while never averting his gaze from the other.  
  
            “The 4th street case actually has a survivor.”  
  
            The other’s eyes widen and if Sungjong flinches a bit at his cold tone, he ignores it.  
  
            “Victim is male, 20s, currently in the hospital for treatment.”  
  
            He reaches the last wad of cash, grinning madly, and drops the bomb.  
  
            “Whoever the bastard is, he must be insane, killing all the people in the house and the nearby vicinity ruthlessly but leaving the most persistent bastard alive.”  
  
            He chances a glance and he can almost imagine the shiver running the other’s back.  
  
            “That’s why, whatever you’re planning, Sungjong-ah, you better stop now.”  
  
            He closes the envelope and puts it inside his jacket, safely over his heart.  
  
            “Before the damn detective Lee Howon comes knocking.”  
  
            He makes his way to leave when Sungjong calls out to him.  
  
            “…hyung.”  
  
            Now that’s rare, he thinks.  
  
            “Who else have you gave this info?”  
  
            He smiles, and shrugs.  
  
            “Who knows? Alas, I swear loyalty to no one, and not even your whole fortune can buy my silence, Sungjong-ah.”  
  
            The younger laughs at that, hand covering the face.  
  
            “Be careful, Sunggyu, at this rate you’ll have a bullet in your brain.”  
  
            He simply smiles, yet it does not reach his eyes, and walks out of the office, steps steady. He greets the bored barista, who is slumped by the counter, both ears plugged this time. Upon seeing him the other stands up, and reaches for his order of coffees, an apologetic expression on his face.  
  
            “Um, I think the ice has melted a bit, should I make a new one?”  
  
            He glances at the tag pinned on the uniform -Myungsoo; he commits to his memory- and shakes his head as he takes the drinks from the other’s hand.  
  
            “Its fine, I shouldn’t be picky when it’s on the house. Also, you might want to try making something with lemon for your boss, it will do him good.”  
  
            The barista nods, thanking him for the suggestion and bows as he walks himself out of Infinite café. He takes a sip of the latte when he reaches the park a couple of blocks away, surprise coloring his expression at the taste, and he found himself hoping that whatever Sungjong planned on doing, the barista will not in any way gotten involved.  
  
            It will be bad on his conscience if the guy turned out to be yet another killer-for hire in training. Heaven knows Sungjong need to stop finding talented assassin with perchance for good skills in kitchen.  
  
            Meanwhile back at the café, Sungjong is on the verge of screaming when he found out Sunggyu had managed to sneak free coffees, again. When he questioned Myungsoo on it; the confused barista, who obviously just meet the informant for the first time simply answers straightforwardly.  
  
            “He is a customer?”  
  
            Sungjong just sighs, and decides to forego the rest of the document for the day when he almost thrashes the room out of frustration, Sunggyu’s smirk taunting him in his mind.  
  
            As for the said informant, he is on the way back to his place after finishing the rest of the latte and cappuccino when his phone rings; the casual tone as he greets the caller gives nothing away on the expression on his face.  
  
            For the slow smile gracing his lips when he sees the caller ID is almost maniacal with glee, and only widens with each step he takes.  
  
            “Fifty thousand…sure then, I’ll tell you what you want to know, Woohyun-ah.”


	4. I'll Ruin You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think too much on whether to delete my Twitter or make a new one or open up a new one (making it 2 accounts) just to flail about my writing. /sigh/ The problem when RL threaten to interfere with fandom life. Welp.

*******

  
  
  
-6th June 201X, 11:25PM-  
  
  
            “Sorry, have you been waiting long?  
  
            Sungyeol whips his head around at that, and smiles, patting the seat beside him.  
  
            “I just have arrived myself- is that mine?”  
  
            Chuckling, the man hands him a tall cup of coffee, the aroma washing over him.  
  
            “You sounded weird on the phone, so I figured you might appreciate it.”  
  
            He sips the coffee and almost burst in happiness; trust Myungsoo to know how he likes his coffee perfectly. And it must have shown on his face, for the barista smiles sheepishly, ducking his head in embarrassment. He proceeds to use his free hand to ruffle the younger’s head, and the laugh elicited from the gesture lifts his mood almost instantly.  
  
            “So, how’s work today?”  
  
            Myungsoo makes a face at that, and starts talking (read: ranting) about various customers who visited Infinite café for the day, and he leans back on the bench, listening attentively.  
  
            He had moved to the neighborhood around three years back, when he was still a wide-eyed rookie officer, fresh from the academy, and Myungsoo was just starting his 2nd year studying photography at the nearby university. They may or may not had passed by one another on the streets, as Sungyeol would swear he had seen him around, but it was not until Myungsoo took a job as deliverer at the Chinese restaurant Howon was fond of that they officially met.  
  
            They had hit it off immediately, to the amazement of each other and people around them, and it is by no exaggeration that he calls the younger his best friend, for Myungsoo is always, always there, ready to listen to him when the pressure in his heart after each case become a bit too much to bear. He is careful, of course, to not divulge any information to a civilian and the younger understands enough to not pry, and he is forever thankful for that.  
  
            In a way, Myungsoo symbolizes the normal life he could have had, had he not aim for the badge sitting heavy in his chest pocket. Sungyeol does not hate his job, no, he is proud to be a part of the force, but he would be lying if he says he never thought about it.  
  
            Thus whenever he feels his resolve weakening, or when the fine line of morality grays a bit in his mind, he will call the younger out, and listen to the soft-spoken voice of his best friend, if only to gather himself back together.  
  
            But now, just the sight of Myungsoo sitting here, still, and talking to him is enough.  
  
            For Sungyeol had made the mistake of not hiding the board he put up in his room for the case when the younger came over for the usual movie night, and he could feel his world came crashing down when Myungsoo -clumsy, awkward Kim Myungsoo- volunteered to be his informant.  
  
            He had seen the hiring notice when he dropped by for coffee, and he had jokingly said Myungsoo made better coffee than the barista there, but he could not risk it, not when the younger’s very life is at stake.  
  
            Still, the younger had took up a part time job at Infinite café of all places, and with the same small smile, like the one he had when he told him of the news of the hiring, hands him the recorder.  
  
            “I don’t really quite understand what they were talking about, but it’s something about 4th street case, so I figured that it’ll be of help to the investigation.”  
  
            He can feel his throat clammed up, eyes staring at the offending object on his palm.  
  
            “Sungyeol, I’m doing this because I want to, just like you do this because you want to, right; behind Howon-hyung’s back?”  
  
            “That is-,” and he makes a mistake of looking up, his gaze straight into Myungsoo’s unwavering eyes as the younger continues.  
  
            “You had helped me a whole lot, Sungyeol, more than you can ever imagine, so please, let me do this, even for just a little while longer. I will quit working there, I promise.”  
  
            Sungyeol feels like he ages ten years more, yet he knows there is nothing he can do, so he sighs, and nods reluctantly.  
  
            For Myungsoo had no way of knowing that the younger had saved him countless times, that the last thing he wanted was to get the other involved, yet here they are, on a bench at the park, like usual, except it is never the same, not anymore.  
  
            Looking at the recorder, he starts, the lump in his throat yet to dissolve completely.  
  
            “How did you even get this? I don’t think the owner will let new employees into the office.”  
  
            Myungsoo grins, “He asked me to bring in coffees in bulks these whole week, apparently it is the accounting time for the café, and only let me clear everything up after closing, so I paste the small device under one of the cups.”  
  
            Sungyeol nods, he may or may not had took one of the apparently broken recording devices from the station home when the inventory people clear up the store for cleaning and stocking, only to discover it is repairable, to his delight.  
  
            Myungsoo had laughed when he told him about it, and he had given it to the other in an attempt to make the younger think twice about the idea, but perhaps he had been secretly glad on the opportunity, for the guilt bears heavy in his mind which each passing day. Maybe, just maybe, that is also why the younger takes it to reassure him instead, despite everything.  
  
            He grips on the device, hard, shoves it into his pocket, and with a small, thin voice, says thank you, to which the barista simply hums and smiles in return. They sit there in silence, and Sungyeol runs through their early conversation, just to distract themselves when something struck.  
  
            “Myungsoo, you said one of the customer’s meeting the owner is a red-haired guy?”  
  
            The younger blinks, and nods, and he almost feels his blood run cold. Sungyeol bites the inside of his cheek, so hard it bleeds.  
  
            “Myungsoo, I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”  
  
            The younger is confused now, slight frown on the face.  
  
            “The owner; he called the man ‘Sunggyu’, right?”  
  
            Myungsoo nods, eyes not leaving his.  
  
            “Remember the informant I told you about, the one I said to avoid at all cost?”  
  
            He watches as slowly, the younger’s eyes widen, as it dawns on him.  
  
            “You cannot quit the café now, Myungsoo; Sunggyu will noticed something’s up and he will look you up- hell he might be doing that as we are speaking, the bastard cannot stand not knowing something no matter how insignificant it seems-, and then he might be suspicious and snooping around and-  
  
            A sharp tug on his hand stops him and before he knows it Myungsoo pulls him in for a hug, hand stroking his back and soft words murmurs softly.  
  
            “Its fine, Sungyeol; we’ll be fine. Don’t panic, please. You and I, we will be fine.”  
  
            Sungyeol closes his eyes, and breathe.  
  
            Later, when it is way past midnight, they part ways with a teasing remark from Myungsoo, and a jab from the said officer to the younger’s side, like always, before they turn the opposite ways and making their way back home; Sungyeol living on the opposite end of the neighborhood than Myungsoo.  
  
            They will not bring this up again, just like how many times he almost breaks down in front of the younger, and again he marvels on what luck he has on having Myungsoo as a friend.  
  
            Still, when he enters his apartment, and changes into shirt and shorts, he draws the curtain hiding a huge whiteboard hang on the wall of the bedroom -one even Myungsoo never knows existed- and listens to the recording, pen jotting down details of the conversations recorded.  
  
            Around him scatters of papers littering the floor, and stacks of documents almost knee high sat on the corner by the table, labeled by case files, printed illegally out of the soft copy he obtained when he helped organizing said files in the station’s main computer.  
  
            Sunggyu’s voice greeted his ears and by the end of it all he slumps on the floor, unmoving for about two minutes before he picks himself up again, hand reaching for the marker. With blank eyes Sungyeol adds more notes on the board, and with heavy heart, writes down detective Lee Howon’s name.  
  
            A soft ping from the computer alerts him of incoming mail and he checks it to see one from Kyungsoo, his friend back in high school, the same friend who had helped him repair the recording devices.  
  
            ‘Took almost all of my genius, but I fixed the damn thing. Got weird files inside; like some sort of manual or something, I don’t know I’m no good with words and it got like a trillion of it. I’ll drop it at usual time and place. You owe me one month worth of lunches now, Lee Sungyeol.’  
  
            He almost groans at the thought of saying goodbye to his paycheck for the month but then he did owe the guy as much.  
  
            ‘If there’s anything I can figure out though is that there is like, lots of names, I think? I’ll try listing a bit. Let me know if this is dangerous stuff so I can kill you first if anything happen.’  
  
            He chuckles at that before freezes at the first name; his eyes widen which each scroll.  
  
            Sungyeol whips his head around so fast he is seeing stars, but as he yanks opens the curtain to the second huge whiteboard on his wall, he can feel his body shaking.  
  
            Various names littered the board; from mafias to civilians and polices, and he knows digging into this will definitely get him killed but perhaps it is a bit too late for such sobering thoughts now.  
  
            He types in a reply email and hopes the word comes off as humorous enough to be passed as a joke, even when it is anything but.  
  
            ‘Don’t worry; I’ll just have a bullet in my brain, no big deal.’


	5. Count The Saints

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first started posting this I intended for a different chapter to be posted on the editor's birthday but instead my inner anime trash side made a comeback and consequently made me neglecting the MS Word welp. Alas, Ainin, for sticking with me all this time, this is for you. I'll work harder, for real. ~~lol plot twist she won't believe me anyway welp~~

*******

  
  
  
-7th June 201X, 2.30AM-  
  
  
            “I got coffee.”  
  
            He bits back on a chuckle as Hoon jolts from his seat, and enters the room, placing the tall cup of coffees on the side table; eyes roaming the scattered documents on the main table as the inspector hastily clear them up, a sheepish look on the face.  
  
            “You should’ve told me you’re coming, sir.”  
  
            Yoongi snorts at that honorific; trust the elder to remain conscious of hierarchy and all the unimportant things even at 2 in the damn morning.  
  
            “It’s way past working hours for such formality, hyung.”  
  
            Hoon smiles, shaking his head a bit, “We never know which walls have ears now, do we?”  
  
            He sees where the other comes from, and it is not that he does not understand, really, but he cannot help the frown and the uncomfortable feeling to have such respect directed at him when he is out of uniform. Especially when it is from people who had gone way back with him.  
  
            They had entered the force around similar time, and years of working at the same station had made them close, though while Yoongi had been quick to rise up in ranks thanks to his tenacity and great record, Hoon had been content to take it slow, and firmly announced that he has no intention of rising higher than Senior Inspector rank, the highest for the station. Upon asked about it, the elder had simply smiled, and said that the station is where he belongs, to the higher-ups surprise and confusion.  
  
            Even when he was promoted as Commissioner General, the highest rank there ever is in the force, Hoon had simply smiled, congratulate him wholeheartedly, and denied the offer to move to the Gwangjin office, though this time no one really pushed him for it.  
  
            Hwayang-dong station had taken the most brunt of the 2501 case, and no one had really remained the same in the aftermath, himself included.  
  
            The sound of wheel squeaking on the floor jolts him out of his reverie, and heaving a sigh, he plops down on one of the chairs, and picks up the document, one that is conveniently placed nearest to him. At the corner of his eyes he sees Hoon wheeling the board from behind the book shelf, filled with details of the 4th street case.  
  
            Skipping through the report, which is, of course, about the said case, he feels his lips thinning into a straight line, the accompanied pictures of the scene gruesome enough to make his skin crawl, and all the red is making him sick.  
  
            Yoongi closes the file, and trains his gaze to the board instead.  
  
            “Good thing the detective remained unconscious through all that.”  
  
            Hoon exhales audibly, and took a seat next to him, nodding his agreement.  
  
            “I cannot say the same to his partner though, the poor kid was so shaken, clutching onto him like a lifeline until they were removed from the scene.”  
  
            Yoongi grimaces at that; he had caught the officer one time by chance when he was around the neighborhood, and seeing Sungyeol pulling the grumpy Howon around had made him smile amusedly, and the memory brought back the time when he had seen a similar scene except with Howon was-  
  
            He sobers quickly at that, and sips his now lukewarm coffee, the taste bitter on his tongue, and speaks softly, “Again, it’s detective Lee Howon, huh?”  
  
            Hoon took a sharp intake of breath at that, before start talking.  
  
            “It’s a coincidence. At least, I hope it is. I mean, there is nothing that connects the two cases and all the key players from that time is almost not around anymore -okay not all but you got my drift, and more importantly,”  
  
            Yoongi turns at the pause, facing the elder.  
  
            “We don’t have to deal with a serial killer on top of all the mess we had back then.”  
  
            Hoon shifts on his seat, reaching for his coffee.  
  
            “So it’s pretty much confirmed, then? It’s the same guy?”  
  
            The long suffering look on the inspector’s face makes him look older than he should.  
  
            “The autopsy report is been typed in as we speak, including the list of all the victims, but from the same M.O all of them were done in, I say we got the same guy. Seokjin even compare it to the report of the previous cases and confirmed it with me this morning.”  
  
            Yoongi nods and Hoon takes it as a cue to continue.  
  
            “Everything is pretty much the same; the slashing style -quick and deep, the wound mark, the high count of victims in one case, except this time he left someone alive, a witness, if we can even call him that.”  
  
            Yoongi rubs his temple, disbelieve in his features, “And it’s a cop he left alive.”  
  
            “The only cop involved this time,” Hoon adds helpfully.  
  
            The slasher -as the media had come to call him, due to his perchance of using a bladed tool to kill- had first caused a wave of shock throughout the country when the first group of victims were found at the abandoned warehouse near the Han river. Since most of the victims were people from the underground world, the incident was effectively covered to the public as the result of dispute between the gangs at the area, though the case immediately took a nasty turn when the result of the autopsy showed the same style of mark on each and every body.  
  
            Later, after around 3 months, another group of victims were discovered, and when a missing heir of a huge company as well as a couple of police officers was discovered among the list, there was no way to stop the media any longer. Yoongi had remembered the press conference quite clearly, particularly the stern look on Jung Taekwoon’s face as he answered the media as well as the glare at anyone who dare bring up any kind of nonsense, which to Yoongi, is the only reason why the whole proceedings ran as smoothly as it did.  
  
            (Promoting the man as Superintendent General was one of the greatest decision Yoongi ever made, if only to drive home to the old board of directors that he is not to be mess with. Taekwoon was, like him, started as a rank-and-file police officer, handling day-to-day duties at small police boxes before climbing up the police ladder.)  
  
            Things just started to calm down with the public, while the investigation turned up wild, bringing up lots of names and connections previously undiscovered, -from the police, the underground people, to foreign criminal organizations, and they were just ready to announce the findings when the slasher strikes again after half a year of silence.  
  
            The media had been quick to call it, and the words on the street had pretty much accept it as the truth -that the slasher is back- and now everyone is just waiting for the words from the police to confirm it, and Yoongi can see the headache coming at the possible panic that will ensue after the press conference.  
  
            “I owe Taekwoon a week-long vacation after this.”  
  
            Hoon simply pats his shoulder at that.  
  
            “But that’s not the worst of it, right; hyung?”  
  
            Yoongi scans the board again, the details is written in an orderly manner, arrows linking one point to another, but there is no hint whatsoever about a survived victim. Hoon had taken rein of the situation, keeping everything under wraps, and order a complete silence about Howon being involved directly in the case.  
  
            And when the report reached Yoongi, he made a direct call to the Senior Superintendent of Gwangjin station to leave the initial investigation to Hwayang-dong station instead to not make it seem bigger than it is, and also as a means to stop the word from spreading, buying them some time before the media caught wind of the situation.  
  
            Now after almost 10 days, there are still no words on a witness on the media, and logically, aside from the police -and very few of them too- no one would, should even think of the possibility. Except the words were still out, and worst, it circulated in the underground world, of all places.  
  
            Yoongi had drop by tonight to confirm this, and he need to hear it from the one person he knows will never lie to him. And Hoon knows it too, for the inspector grits his teeth, head hang low between them, and exhales deeply.  
  
            “I had Sungyeol check for nearby CCTV on possible witness aside from the authorities’ personnel and turn out empty; of course, since everyone’s been wiped out by the slasher, so.”  
  
            He grips his knuckles so hard it turns white, as Hoon continues.  
  
            “Aside from the police, there is no way the information would leak out.”  
  
            Yoongi leans on the chair, and it feels like déjà vu when he said it, the words stumbling out of his lips, “We have a mole in the force, of course,” and he feels like laughing when the realization sinks in, “This is like 2501 case all over again, isn’t it, hyung?”  
  
            “No.”  
  
            The stern in the elder’s voice at the reply makes him turn his head, facing the other man, and he can see it, an undercurrent of something flashing in the inspector’s eyes.  
  
            “Until we obtain sufficient connection between the two cases, I refuse to think of them as related. I did that with another case before and…it almost clouds my judgment instead.”  
  
            Yoongi holds his tongue at that; after all, between the two of them, the inspector is by far more affected on that case than he is, and he respects the older man’s stand on the matter, as per all the previous occasions. Alas, he is not one to believe in coincidences, no matter how convenient they are, especially so when 2501 case is involved.  
  
            Still, there is no reason to get worked up over it; for he already got what he initially came here for. Gathering the long empty cups of coffee, he stands up, one hand reaching for the washed out long jacket on the side table.  
  
            He notices Hoon staring at his wrinkled out shirt, and snorts.  
  
            “Good disguise, no?”  
  
            That earned a laugh from the elder and he smiles, before continuing in a nonchalant manner, “When’s the briefing?”  
  
            The inspector smiles knowingly yet answers nonetheless, “In two days, at HQ.”  
  
            “Save a seat at the back.”  
  
            Hoon nods, jotting a note in his notebook, and asked, “You’re coming?”  
  
            He makes a show of thinking at that, for surely he will not go; it will not do to have everyone being so worked up with his presence, yet he wants an update on the situation, so he will have to make do with a substitution, as usual.  
  
            “I’ll check my schedule with the secretary and give you the heads up.”  
  
            Hoon nods again, understanding the code, before reaching over towards him, one hand fixing the beanie on his head, soft smile on his face.  
  
            “You’re doing well, Yoongi-ah.”  
  
            It feels like a weight has been lifts off his shoulder at that somehow, that he cannot help the smile gracing his face, as well as the sincere ‘thank you’ uttered from his lips.  
  
            They bid farewell soon after, Hoon claiming it is already too late to go back, and when his phone alerted him of his ride’s arrival, Yoongi walks out of the station with a fresh cup of coffee warming his hands, thanks to the inspector’s insistence.  
  
            Back when the news on the Commissioner General retiring early due to health concerns was announced, he had thought nothing of it, simply going about his business as usual, that it had been a huge shock when he discovered his name was nominated for the position, and many had thought he was too young for such a high rank, especially when he was just promoted to Chief Superintendent General a couple of years prior.  
  
            Yet, Bang Sihyuk -the said Commissioner General- .was quite adamant about it, and pretty much rallying people’s support towards Yoongi to replace him, as he believed the younger have what it takes to change the force.  
  
            Still, he had half a heart to turn it down, until Hoon took him out for a drink as a way to congratulate him, and had look at him with such conviction in the eyes that Yoongi will be just fine that he start believing he will.  
  
            Even when the first thing he did when he took the post was planning on exposing the corruption within the force, the elder had simply laughed and offered a hand.  
  
            “You will need people on your side to do the dirty work, Yoongi.”  
  
            He is grateful for the elder, time and time again; that he does not think he will ever able to forgive himself if they are not solving the 2501 case, by hook or by crook. And if nabbing the slasher will somehow brings them one step closer to unravel the mystery, then he will do everything in his power to get him, no matter what.  
  
            Yoongi crosses the street with resolution born anew in his chest, and slips into the passenger seat of Jimin’s car, offering half the coffee to the younger’s delight.  
  
            “You’re going to the 4th street case briefing in HQ, tell Inspector Hoon I sent you.”  
  
            The other man simply nods, finishing the coffee.  
  
            “And if the inspector asked…?”  
  
            Yoongi simply waves a hand at that, “Nah, already knew the secretary’s coming.”  
  
            Jimin smiles at that, passing him a phone, and press the pedal.  
  
            He narrows his eyes at the object in his hands -an old model of flip phone-, but the hard look on the driver’s face kills any sort of inquiry on his tongue, so he flips the phone open, browsing through it mindlessly, unknowing what to look for until the soft voice break the silence.  
  
            “Check the Audio 1 file, hyung.”  
  
            Jimin presses the pedal harder, the sound of the engine roaring between them, yet he can still hear the voice clearly, ringing from the phone. And if his hands are shaking throughout the whole time he listens, the younger does not mention it.  
  
            Even when he finally flips the phone shut, and leans against the seat of the car, he can still hear Namjoon’s desperate voice before the call is cut off, followed by the sickening sound of a crash, and he is back to 2008 again.  
  
            “Listen, there is a plot to kill Suga, and they have a mole in the force, so be careful-


	6. I Need New Ways To Waste My Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moving houses is a long, tiring process and a huge pain made worse with slow internet connection thanks to no coverage for the previous, definitely fast internet plan at this town, like, _why_. Maybe this will make me write more? Who knows lol.
> 
> In a more fic related news, we're now entering the part where chronology is bashed out the window so do pay attention to the date and year at the beginning of the chapter. Of course, thank you for all the support still!

 

*******

  
  
  
-19th May 2008, 12.30 AM-

 

            “Yes, what can I do for you today?”

            On the other end of the line, the bustling sound of nearby traffic cuts through the static, interspersed with the sound of siren before he hears a grunt, hushed voice, words spoken short and straightforward. He hums throughout the one sided conversation, mentally calculating the distance, and in the same cheery tone as the greeting, replies, “Of course, I’ll be there in twenty.”

            He pockets his phone, rides out of the alleyway, and speeds down the road, leaving an afterimage of his red taillights on Seoul’s main streets before taking the long way out of the city. Truth to be told, he can reach the client in less than 10 minutes, but he has his black leather jacket on tonight, and he just polished clean his black helmet and black bike, that the siren feels more ominous than usual.

            It is not his fault that people of authority seems to dislike him, though he may run over the speed limit one or two or ten times in the past.

            Or pretty much every single time he is on the road maybe, though he begs to differ.

            Being a transporter on a graveyard shift is no easy matter, after all.

            He takes the back road, blending in the dark seamlessly -he knows all the roads and every alleys in Seoul like the back of his hand-, and comes to a stop when he can see the client, leaning against the wall, gaze trained on the small fire in front of him.

            He flickers the front light of his bike upwards once, twice, three times, and the man -Namjoon, of course- waves him over. He goes into the narrow alley between the buildings until he is close enough to where the other is standing, and remains on the bike, leaning slightly to the left, leg firmly on the ground.

            Namjoon raises a brow at that, but he ignores it, and simply pushes up the helmet visor, the usual sign of ‘I’m in a hurry so please make this quick’, considering that the police might still be around and he is in no mood to play cat and mouse tonight.

            Instead, Namjoon just shakes his head, and with a swift and quick motion, reaches over and kills the engine of his bike, to his horror.

            “They’re gone, J-Hope. Some drunken dude decides to bash a bat on a parked police car, and, well, that kind of trigger the sirens. They got the dude right away though so off they go.”

            He stares, half convinced, yet Namjoon meets his eyes steadily, as if daring him to question it, to which he exhales, and gets off the bike. If anything the man is his client now, and no one in their right mind makes transactions with the transporter while having a risk of getting caught; either that by the cops, or the underground people, for he is neutral, siding with no side of law.

            J-Hope will deliver anything for anyone, no strings attached, and definitely no questions necessary, so long as there’s money. After all, he just needed the cash, and he can be ignorant of what his clients are up to, so long as he is spared of getting tangled with whatever they are dealing with.

            Thus the reason he never saves any of his client’s numbers, and deletes the whole log after each successful transaction, even when it is someone who uses his services often enough like Namjoon.

            And, as always, the bellboy at the Xing, which is arguably one of the biggest hotels in Seoul right now, takes out a locked box -prettily wrapped complete with frilly pink ribbon and everything- from his duffel bag, and hands it to him with such care it almost makes him ache, despite how many times they went through this routine already.

            “Please make sure it reaches that person as quickly as possible.”

            Slipped in the middle is a red card signed ‘To Suga: With Love’, again, as usual.

            The first time he had received the job he had wondered if it was a mistake; that maybe it is just a front for a shady dealing or something, but Namjon had blushed bright red despite the dim lighting in the alley, and in a small voice, admit that he had heard a rumor and managed to acquire his business contact information somehow, if only to periodically send love letters and present to a certain sweetheart of his who lives in downtown near Hongdae.

            He planned for it to be surprises, thus the random timing and different packages each time, yet always, always after midnight, because that is the time when he is sure that person is home.

            And J-Hope, well, he may be a transporter living life precariously on edge thanks to his need for speed, but deep inside he is a hopeless romantic, so he never turns down the request, no matter how swamped or tired he is, and he even has Namjoon’s number in memory despite his rule of keeping client’s at arm’s length.

            Tonight, he keeps the locked box carefully tucked in his leather jacket, alongside the parcel with however much Namjoon paid him this time (he may or may not be a tad lenient with the amount when it comes to this particular client and request), and speeds away to the now familiar apartment of Suga in record time, running over three red lights in the process before using the back road as one dressed in dark like him ought to be.

            Later, J-Hope reaches the door to Suga’s place after successfully covering his tracks and hiding the bike at the old rundown shop on the opposite of the apartment. As much as he loathes leaving his beloved ride, he had come to understand that some things are necessary after he unintentionally exposed a drug trafficking operation which was, well, unfortunate to all parties involved, really.

            He still has the scar from the time a stray bullet grazes his arm.

            So he learns to stick to his bike when he receives the item to ensure quick getaway, and to go by foot to the intended place in order to not attract unwanted attention, though he is still unable to let go of the helmet, which is tucked safely under his arm.

            With a confident stride, and carefully practiced smile, he knocks on the door, and waits, as usual. Sure enough, there are sounds of clothes rustling, and movement before the door opens to reveal a shorter guy instead, with eye bag the size of China, and perpetual frown on his face, hair mussed from sleep.

            Still, J-Hope unzips his leather jacket, brings out the locked box, and as carefully as he received it from Namjoon, hands it to the man, -Suga, maybe this is the one, his brain helpfully adds- who took just one glance at the signed card and wordlessly receives it.

            “Thank you. Sorry for the trouble.”

            J-Hope simply smiles at that, nonchalantly flips the jacket to reveal the parcel before nods and makes way to leave, as stealthily as before when the-maybe-Suga calls out, “Hey.”

            He turns, confusion on his face, “Yes…?”

            The man bore a gaze on him, weight heavily leaning on the door, and eyes half-shut, shivering slightly from the night breeze.

            “Do you deliver people?”

            To say his heart drops to his stomach is an understatement.

            Alas, he is the transporter, and he still has a reputation to hold, though he will definitely deny that wads of cash are the decider, no, not at all. Besides, it can be a test of skills, to see how far he can push with another, totally conscious human being sitting behind him.

            He goes extra mile to make sure that the man fastens the helmet properly, and reminds him to never, never, _ever_ , let go regardless of what may come, to which the client (he still marvels at this fact), just scowls at him, muttering stuff like “I’m not a child”, under his breath, to his mild amusement.

            In a way the other is kind of cute, and he can somewhat see why tall, serious, lanky Namjoon can be so besotted, assuming that the shorter man is _indeed_ Suga; the previous times he complete the requests it had been a tall, broad shouldered man with a strikingly pretty face, who had smile warmly and taken to reassures him that the package/letter/present will reach the roommate, after his initial reluctance to pass the items the first time he knocks on the door.

            He had indeed leave the letter with the man, who introduces himself as Jin, but when the second time the same thing happened he wound up ringing Namjoon despite himself to inform the client about the circumstances. He could leave it be, like he usually did, but Namjoon’s red blushing face bugged him that he cannot help but want to do his requests properly.

            The relief must have been palpable in his voice, for he could hear the smile in Namjoon’s voice, “You don’t have to worry, really. Everything turns out fine. Still, thank you for your kindness, you have my gratitude.”

            He returned home before the crack of dawn in a daze, heart thundering at the sincerity washes over him from the other end of the line, and waited until he is safe in the confines of his room before he deleted the log.

            Tonight, J-Hope navigates the dark roads away from the apartment seamlessly, and uses the shortest route to the destination in the fastest way possible, the client’s arms an iron grip around his waist.

            Well, he just follows the instruction, really, which was ‘take me to this address in the fastest way you could, break the laws, go over the limit, I don’t care just do whatever’, so.

            In fact, he broke his own record today, going over 130km/h from the get go, though of course he is not going to say that; the man’s face a deathly pale as he mounds from the bike, body swaying dangerously as he hands the rider his helmet back.

            And when J-Hope catches him before he hits the ground, he can feel the locked box safely tucked in the man’s leather jacket, and he feels warm again. Wordlessly, he wounds an arm over his shoulder, and his left hand meets the man's waist, as they make way to the back door of what seem like a clinic or lab or something.

            The man (he really ought to ask his name one way or another at this rate), knocks on the window in a rhythmic pattern and the door slides open, Jin’s surprised face greeting them.

            “S- Suga what happened? And ...J-Hope is it? Come in.”

            He belatedly realizes he still has his helmet on, though in a way he is glad for he is sure his face lit up at the realization of the client’s identity, despite himself.

            Jin brings out a chair and the client -Suga, this _is_ Suga _oh damn_ -, plops down unceremoniously on it, and promptly passed out, to his horror. Jin though, who he just realizes wear a lab coat of sort simply chuckles at the sight.

            “He had been running with less sleep these days, about time he hit the limit, I say.”

            J-Hope does not know them well enough (or at all, really) to get the joke, so he just nods at that, rubbing his neck awkwardly and starts making way to leave when Jin grabs his arm.

            “Did Namjoon send you?”

            When he called Namjoon that one time, the man had assured him that the (apparently) roommate of Suga’s, Jin, is a trustworthy person, and that there is nothing to be worried about, but J-Hope, as a transporter, holds and lives by the code of confidentiality; be it between the client and the intended recipients, and of course, the details of said request and transactions.

            The moment he decided to do this job, his very life is bound by the said code.

            For he is a neutral party in all ways possible, and with his helmet on, he is J-Hope through and through; the black rider roaming the streets of Seoul as transporter in the dark of the night.

            So he gently lowers Jin’s hand from his arm, and instead of the usual cheery tone he use when on business, he spoke softly, yet seriously, all the time facing the taller man.

            “Allow me to apologize, sir, but that is a confidential matter.”

            J-Hope takes a step back, and bows promptly, before straighten up again, one hand sliding the door open, “If you can excuse me, I will be taking my leave here.”

            He gives Jin about 5 seconds (he can afford that much), and when the man nods, understanding, he turns and walks straight to his bike, never once turning back, despite the stare boring a hole on his back.

            And with ease and well practiced motion, he gets the bike running, leaving only the afterimage of his red taillights burned in Jin’s eyes.

            He steals a glance on his watch and took a detour to a pretty deserted gas station on the outskirts of the city, filling the tank full for another day of work tomorrow, and drops a tip to the snoring gas attendant, head lulled against the gasoline pump. He would not blame the kid; it is close to dawn now, after all.

            J-Hope rides home with ease, his phone silent in his jacket pocket, and kills the engine at the entrance of the old apartment, pushing the bike and parks it behind the wooden storage hut at the far corner by the bushes.

            The old owner of the apartment had pretty much leave them to their own devices, and he can hardly care less what his tenants are up to, so long as they meet the monthly rent, which is of course, not a hard thing for him.

            J-Hope, in all honesty, has no idea what kind of people would rent a room at such a rundown apartment, but it is an unspoken agreement among them to not poke at anyone’s business, and if anyone recognize his bike from somewhere, well, at least he is not reported yet.

            Though that might be because no one makes a point to get to know anyone here, and despite being among the longest tenant around, he only gets to know one such person, and that is because the person stays in a room right beside his, and their schedule kind of overlaps at times.

            Like now, when he just about to fish his keys from his pocket, helmet dangling on one arm, and the next door opens, a sleepy looking kid walks out with a yawn, and another, much taller one -to his surprise, he never knew the kid got a roommate- mirrors him almost immediately before the head whips around at him, the gaze unreadable.

            “Good morning, Hoseok-hyung! Just got off work?”

            Park Jimin, the shorter of the two, chirps happily, head bows shortly in greeting, and he returns the smile with equal fervor, almost an automatic reaction at this rate.

            “Yeah, as if you can’t tell from my zombie face, kid.”

            Jimin giggles at that, and surprisingly his friend too, eyes crinkling. Seeing an opportunity, Jimin pulls the boy alongside him and freaking beams like sunlight.

            “Hyung, this is my friend Kim Taehyung, he works in the same station as me, though he is a proper officer, with gun and all.”

            Taehyung blanches at that, and quickly retort, “You’re an officer too!” surprising him with how deep the kid’s voice is but Jimin just jabs the other’s ribs, “I’m doing accounting works, idiot! You’re the one going around arresting people.”, and proceed to bicker in front of the door for solid 3 minutes (and ongoing).

            He had known Jimin by chance, when the younger got locked out and pacing in front of the door (or more like attempting to break it down) when he returned from the usual work inquiries, and the other was so surprised to see him he almost thought the kid was going to pass out on the spot.

            Well, if a person wearing all black from head to toe suddenly appears he’ll pass out right there and then, really.

            So he took pity on the other (also because he felt slightly guilty for scaring him, though that was purely unintentional), and called the owner as well as offered to go over and retrieve the second key, to which the younger start crying out of relief, Busan dialect slipped out in between all the words of gratitude.

            Somehow they start catching each other since then; Jimin would go out to work at the nearby Hwayang-dong police station just in time for him to come back from work himself, and they would exchange small talk, bid each other good day, and go forth with their day, to which he would usually just spend by sleeping, to be honest.

            They never prod about each other, and the only reason he even found out about Jimin’s work is because the younger let slipped about it unintentionally one day when he tripped and scattered lots of papers, and Hoseok just wound up picking one with the official notice from the station to all the employees.

            To say Hoseok, still clad in J-Hope’s persona and uniform was shocked is an understatement of the century. To be fair, most of the time he sees Jimin’s attire when the kid’s going to work it consist of simple black pants, plain white dress shirt, tie, and cute round glasses perched on his nose. Unlike Taehyung, now, who is in full police uniform attire, a clear indicator on the kind of work he’s doing.

            Speaking of work, though…

            “Aren’t you two going to be late?”

            That shut the bickering duo almost immediately, and the look of identical horror on their faces should not make him laugh as hard as he did, but alas it is hard not to when they scramble around like children; Taehyung picking up the bag and gouging around it for his kepi, while Jimin struggling to find the key in his own suitcase when the door opens from inside, stopping everyone in their tracks, including him.

            A mop of black, dark hair greets him first and then yet another kid pops out (how many people actually lives in that room, he wonders), dressed in similar attire as Taehyung, albeit disheveled and a lot less neat, eyes half shut. The other officer hands Taehyung his kepi, and almost flings a set of keys to Jimin before grunts out in obvious displeasure.

            “You two are too noisy, just go to work already.”

            Jimin huffs, berating the (apparently) younger kid for the lack of respect while Taehyung just grabs the kepi and ready to bolt away, though instead he turns to walk over to Hoseok and reaches over to grab his jacket, to his surprise.

            “This is so cool, hyung. Oh, wait, can I call you hyung?”

            He nods, because, well, Hoseok is a law abiding citizen, and definitely has no problem with the law whatsoever, and the bright rectangular shape smile (how even?) from Taehyung makes him smile back softly.

            Then they are a flurry of motions as they race down the stairs, Taehyung shouting a goodbye before being shoved unceremoniously into the car by Jimin, and then they are speeding away, the shrieking sound of the tire breaking into the morning. Hoseok turns to finally open the door, nods a bit in greeting to the kid, who has taken to stare at him instead, somehow looking more awake, and closes the door behind him.

            Later, when the clock strikes eleven, he steps out of his room, trading the leather jacket to a rider suit -all black, of course-, the same black helmet dangling on one arm, and swiftly locks the door when suddenly the door to Jimin’s room opens.

            Hoseok, already in J-Hope mindset, turns to the left so fast he is seeing stars, though he regains himself quick enough to see the kid from this morning steps out, and faces him properly in the middle of the hallway. Jimin must have not returned yet, considering the lack of Taeyang songs from the room, the silent almost deafening in his ears.

            Still, there is something about the kid, an aura to him, which gives off a different vibe from the usual officers who are quick to reprimand J-Hope for all the traffic offenses, or the ones who are hell bent on making him give out information that might be related to their cases.

            If anything, for some reason, it reminds him of Detective Lee Howon.

            And he has to wonder if that can be a compliment or not.

            So he remains still in front of his door, and waits, until finally, the officer starts.

            “Allow me to apologize in advance if it turns out that this is a mistake, but,”

            It feels like déjà vu.

            And if he pays close attention he would notice a sealed envelope in his right hand.

            “I would like you to deliver this for me, J-Hope-shii.”

            Hoseok- no, J-Hope exhales, his mind surprisingly calm, and wordlessly receives the envelope. He takes note of the recipient, keeps the brown envelope under his suit, and because he is shameless like that, holds out his hand. The kid, understanding the gesture, pulls out his wallet, and hands almost all the cash over.

            “Um…I don’t know exactly how much the payment is…?”

            J-Hope stares, taking a good look at the officer -or the client in this case, really-, and cannot help but wonder why would someone this young choose to get involved with someone like him.

            He cannot honestly say his work is legal by any means, and that applies to most of his clients and requests, no matter from which side of the law they came.

            Maybe that’s why he likes Namjoon’s requests so much, for the rarity they are.

            Still, a job is a job, so he reaches over, takes two bills from the stretched out hand of the taller man -who’s surprised and confused face makes the other look painfully young his heart ache at the sight-, and gently pushes the hand away.

            “Don’t throw your hard earned money into the pit, kid.”

            J-Hope walks on then, teeth clenched hard in his jaw, side-stepping the client (his brain actually spats at the thought), and the two bills feels awfully heavy in his fist. Behind him there is a sound of shuffling slippers, and a soft call stopping him in his tracks.

            He made a mistake of turning around, and looking at the officer’s face.

            For the soft smile will go on to haunt him for a long, long time.

            _“To make this fair, considering I do know who you are, I-“_

            He reaches the destination the envelope is intended, -a rundown apartment near Itaewon, though it looks about to be demolished, so it must be a front, someone will come and get it later, of course, it is the usual way of doing things like this, how else would it be, he has been dealing with these dirty business far longer than anyone’s guess, _of course he knows_ \- and he has half a mind to ripped it apart and throw it away into the Han river, the beautiful lights of the bridge mocking him in its brightness.

            His phone rings once, twice, three times, and when it stops he pulls out the battery.

            In his mind the soft voice echoes, and for once he wishes he can say something more, anything to make the younger turn and get out from this side, while he still can.

            _“-should introduce myself. I guess?”_

            But J-Hope, he is the transporter, and he just needed here, for better or for worse; even when he sometimes caught himself trying to find a subtle way out. So all he can do is prays for the best, that the kid- no.

            _“My name is Jeon Jungkook. I work as an officer at Hwayang-dong station. I’m really sorry for the trouble, but thank you, hyung, ah- can I call you hyung too? Like Taehyung-hyung?”_

            That Jungkook makes it till the end.

            _“Also, let’s keep this a secret just between us, ok; hyung?”_

            No matter what may come.

            _“Jimin-hyung and Taehyung-hyung must not found out, more so Howon-hyung.”_

            Not to disappear.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me on [Tumblr](http://heijihatsutori.tumblr.com) and stop me from lurking around the site too much. OTL


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